A Father and A Daughter
by loon
Summary: Mako-centered. Mako=Mirabell Cute, non-romantic love. R & R


**Note:** This is just a one-shot that I decided to write. I plan on writing SM/LotR crossovers for each of the senshi. My other story, which I'm still thinking of a title for, is for Usa and Rei. This one is for Mako-chan. There may be spoilers if you haven't read RotK.

**story**

            His eyes didn't seem to see much anymore. He saw shapes, colors, and light well enough- but something lacked from his life to the extent of making everything seem robotic and life-less. Sam had noticed and showed more concern for his master than before, but there was nothing that he could do. There was nothing really tying him back, and Sam as well as Pippin and Merry knew this.

            His love for them, though strong, was keeping him here for the time being, but it wouldn't last for long. He wouldn't never, _ever_ lose any feeling of love to his cousins and his gardener, but he didn't have many reasons to wake up every morning. Perhaps he should travel to Rivendell and visit Elrond and Bilbo soon, but he felt to lame to do so. Nothing here remained for him here, and the Grey Havens seemed the only place left to go.

            His name was Frodo, and he was quite the queer hobbit. He, for one, was of the age of 53 and still a bachelor. He had, over the past year, gone on an adventure that led him to places far beyond his what his imagination could come up with. He had nearly died in the Barrow Downs in those cold chambers. 

He had nearly died as the Nazgul blade pierced his shoulders. 

He had nearly died from the spear the cave troll of Moria had pierced into his stomach. 

He had nearly died several times on the way to Mordor. 

He had nearly died several times _in_ Mordor. 

He would have died in Mount Doom from greed surpassing all reason, had Gollum not bitten off his finger with the ring on it. 

He would have died from the wound, had not Gandalf come. 

He would have died, had he not had his friends with him. 

He would have died.

            He was an old man looking far younger than should be. He only had nine fingers, which though not uncommon in Hobbiton (for many were farmers and had work-related accidents) was uncommon for the reason. He hadn't become a hero among his fellow Shire inhabitants, but his cousins and Sam had. Merry for leading the scouring of the Shire, Pippin for being so gallant as to become the knight of a king and nearly die from a cave troll, and Sam for all his selfless deeds along the way.

            What he had done was known, no doubt about it, but most hobbits were wise enough not to question him, for while a great burden had left his plagued soul, a new burden had entered. He felt worthless and lifeless. He felt dead to the world outside of his comfortable smial. Those hobbits that were not wise enough, never managed to meet Frodo, for he hid in his room now. All of the time.

            He often watched over baby Elanor, though, for he felt no need to do anything. He let the time pass by numbly as he made sure the little child didn't hurt her self. He often recalled pleasing memories, however, whenever the light started to dance across the child's hair. She was very elfin in appearance, and that too brought pleasing memories.

Meeting Tom Bombadill and his beautiful wife Goldberry.

Meeting the many elves throughout their journey.

Meeting Galadriel, the most beautiful and wise elf of all.

            Many other good memories came, and though those were wonderful, they merely lightened his mood for a fraction of a minute. He felt overly mopey and often stayed away from Elanor after remembering those things due simply to her looks.

            This day in particular had been after one of those memory days. He was locked in his room, trying desperately to sleep the time away. He grew weary of that, true, but what else was he to do? While thinking that exact thought, his dear Sam had finally managed to enter his room.

            "Frodo, sir, I'm worried about you." Sam's pale brown hair was windblown from gardening work and his grey eyes looked bloodshot. "You just up and locked yourself in your room again. What am I to do with you? You've gotten very pale, Mr. Frodo. A sickly pale. I want you to take a walk among the mallorn and close to the lake, you here? I want you to see the beautiful golden saplings and the crystal clear lake. I trust you'll be okay alone? Or shall I fetch Mr. Peregrin or Mr. Meriadoc to accompany you?"

            Frodo suddenly felt very selfish. Here he had been- moping about there being no worth in his life and worrying Sam and even lovely Rosie with his behavior. He had let them move into his house, and they had repaid him by becoming good friends and taking care of him when needed. They both held him dear, and here he was, doing nothing but making them worry unnecessarily. He _would_ go on that walk, he decided, and he would enjoy that lovely sounding fresh air.

            Frodo nodded to Sam, who smiled in relief, and got out of bed. He waited for Sam to leave him be, and quickly changed into appropriate clothing. Pulling out his pipe and pipe weed, he reached for a hat on his way out. He tugged at it for it to come loose, and pulled down a small mass of grey cloth with it. The cloak from Galadriel. More memories- both good and bad. Ignoring his urge to run back to his room and waste the rest of the day and night sleeping, he did something he never expected to.

            He reached down, with his right hand, and grabbed it. The missing ring finger also caused memories. He cast those aside, with more ease than the time before, and pulled the light cloak around him. It held the smell of the mallorn and elanor that grew in Lorien and, nowadays, here in the Shire. He was quickly comforted, and started out of the door. His hand, this time the left, paused at the door handle. He hadn't been outside for over a year, and he hadn't bothered to observe it from windows the whole time.

            He regained confidence, and turned the knob and quickly exited. For a moment he was stunned at the cool, soothing air. He looked around Hobbiton, once again green and lush, and at the trees that were near at hand and far away, gleaming a wonderful gold and silver in comparison to the green fields and pastures. How had he gone so long without looking out on his beloved home?

            He, feeling much better due to the refreshing air, closed the door and started down the street with purpose. Soon he found himself past the smials and houses of Bag End and close to the forest. The mallorn weren't the only tree there, for Frodo spied a few small pines and oak trees further into the forest. He quickly took a well-known trail, and found himself walking slightly down hill.

            Aesthetically, things had changed rather much. Other than that, everything was as it had been before he had been given the accursed ring. He even felt the whole Fellowship hadn't formed at all and that he had never left the Shire as a large patch of pine trees met him. That changed once the wind picked up his grey cloak and blew it into his face.

            He sighed deeply and at length, before continuing on the way. He walked down a slightly trailing path, and took a few of his old shortcuts. Soon he saw one of the most breathtaking sites in his life.

The crystal blue lake.

            It was just as he remembered it, but it now held a golden glow from the sun and the surrounding mallorn. The Brandybuck in him caught the fire of joy. He wanted to swim, and he wanted to do it now. He hadn't been swimming since his days as a wee lad in Brandybuck Hall, long before dear old Bilbo had adopted him. He never forgot how to swim to this day, and decided to work out his muscles.

            He shed his clothes down to his underclothes and headed towards the shallow shores at a run. The cool water caused a tingling sensation in his calloused and hairy feet, but he ignored it. He quickly reached a part of the lake where it was deep enough for him to dunk his head under and swim around underwater.

            He saw a fish swim by. Horrible memories of Gollum. These he couldn't push aside, so he swam to the bank. The air had warmed, and the sun's rays found him lounging on the pebbly shores hoping to dry off. As if fond of him, the sun's intensity and heat increased until he was dry within an hour. Slowly, as if it's energy had drained, the sun's heat started to fade.

            Frodo slipped into his clothes once more, clasped on his cloak, and started off into the woods for a small walk before wanting to return home. He felt familiar warmth of joy spread throughout his body as he recalled the beautiful sensation of deep water. His joy, just as the joy and oblivion from before, slowly faded, however. His smile started to become fainter and fainter, until he felt as if he was only moving because some higher being commanded his body.

            He decided to cut through some woods and start walking along the pebble covered shores once more. He looked up ahead as he walked by the water and, to his surprise, found a little hobbit lass splash out of the water and sink onto the ground in bliss. She was in not much more than her long johns and her clothes laid near by. She looked to be about 7, too young for a hobbit of either gender to be swimming alone.

            He walked up to her silently as only hobbits can. He stood over to observe her features. Her brown hair, even though it was drenching wet from her swim, curled in the grass her head rested in with an abnormal vigor. She lazily opened one of her brilliant emerald green eyes at his shadow. She closed it again and slowly sat up. Frodo, intrigued by this child, sat down close to her, but not too close to cause alarm.

            "Hello, my dear lass, I'm Frodo Baggins. Who might you be?" The girl looked interested once she heard the name, and cast a quick flick of the eyes to his right hand. Spying the missing finger, her gaze returned to his eyes. "Hello, Mr. Frodo, I'm Mirabell." Frodo smiled kindly, "It is nice meeting you here, my dear, but what is your last name?" She looked both thoughtful and wistful, "I haven't a clue, Mr. Frodo, for I'm an orphan. Have been since I could remember. I don't live with anybody, but Mr. Maggot is really kind and oft lets me stay with him and eat dinner with his family."

            Frodo smiled at a sudden memory of Farmer Maggot and his dogs. Thinking back on what she said, he studied her face and body build. Her hair was more of a light brown and her skin rather pale as well. She was clearly of Fallohide decent. Her greens eyes, a rather common trait in the Took family, lead to the possibility of her being of the Took family. The fact that she had been swimming of her own free will led to the possibility of her being a Brandybuck. Her calm and peaceful nature led to the possibility of her being a Baggins, while her curly hair (more curly than most) led to the possibility of her being of the Chubb clan (renowned for their family always having curlier hair than most hobbits), and lastly her delicate nose and her rather large ears led to the possibility of being of being a Boffin.

            The possibility of her belonging to any of those clans was very likely, but it was hard to tell from which she was more likely from for she seemed a lovely little mix of them all. They chatted quietly for the next hour, Frodo tell his side of the quest of the ring to Mirabell after a shy question from her. She sat there, eyes wide and mouth gapping slightly- ensnared by the legendary sounding tale. After he was done, which was surprisingly soon, he watched her for reactions.

            She gazed at him with a solemn and silent respect, rather abnormal for one of her age. She seemed very mature. She simply gazed at him, their equally intense eyes studying each other, and suddenly got up. Mirabell hugged Frodo tightly with her spindly little arms. She rested her small head on his shoulder and rocked back and forth slightly. Taking her arms from around him, she reached for his right hand.

            Both of her petite and soft hands fit into his large and calloused hand. She pulled his hand up and looked at it silently. She gave a loving kiss to the stump of his missing finger, and held it to her cheek. She petted his hand, and gave his cheek a small kiss. She was the most loving child he had ever met. She hugged him once more, and he returned the embrace, holding loosely to her scrawny frame. She soon started to shiver, for the sun didn't seem to be lively enough to send the small Mirabell a ray of fond warmth.

            Frodo waited for the girl to put on her tattered skirt and wrapped his cloak around her small shoulders. He lifted up her surprisingly light frame and carried her off to his smial. "You shall stay with me in my hobbit hole for as long as you want," Frodo told the child for whom he had gained a fondness, "and you shall get a new dress and food every morning, noon, night, and in-between." She smiled at hugged his neck tightly.

            It took them a half hour to make it back to Bag End, where Frodo could soon spy Sam's worried grey eyes looking through the windows left and right. Just before Frodo had made it to the gate, Sam finally recognized his figure. He rushed out to his master and gave a cry of "Mr. Frodo". He led his master in, taking note of the small girl in his arms. Had he not known Frodo as well as he did, he would have mistaken the two for father and daughter.

            Their hair was near the same shade of color, though hers was curlier. Both had very pale skin, and scrawny builds. Their faces both held full mouths, delicate noses, and large almond-shaped eyes. Their eyes matched, not in color, but in the intensity of the respective colors and the depth of their emotions. Sam couldn't help but sigh in relief as he spied that his master finally held a glow of health and- could it be?- joy.

            He let the girl out of his arms, and hung up his cloak and hat. Sam looked at the girl. She was thin, but not necessarily like Mr. Frodo. He was thin from his Took and Brandybuck genes, while she was skinny due to hunger. Her clothes hung in a tattered array from her body and her hair was very mussed. He started to tut, "My, my. I'll have to find you some nicer clothing that won't let you freeze to death, little Mistress. What is your name?"

            She had before seemed apprehensive of him, but now seemed a bit more comfortable. "My name is Mirabell, sir, but I don't know my last name because I'm an orphan." Her voice was so serious sounding, that Sam felt his heart reach out to the little lass. "Well, my dear, I'm Samwise Gamgee, but you may call me Sam." The little girl gave him a shy smile and shook his outstretched hand. Sam went off to fetch his wife, who he said was named Rosie, and left Mirabell alone in the hallway with Frodo.

            He held his hand out to her at the edge of the range of her vision, "Come, Mirabell dear, there aught to be some food cooling on the table for me. I'll share with you." She grabbed his hand firmly, and was led to the kitchen where a meal was indeed sitting on a table. The steam rising from it was very thin and barely visible, telling them that it had been sitting there for a while. Frodo sat lowered himself into his seat slowly and gave a puff of bliss.

            He had forgotten how comfortable his old chair had been. He pulled Mirabell up to sit on his knee and started to eat. He switched off between feeding himself and feeding her. Afterwards he lit his pipe, which he had forgotten about once having met Mirabell, and blew a small smoke ring.

            Mirabell smiled as she watched the delicate and wispy circlets float off to the window and drift away into the now starry night. He told her part of another story. Something about a hobbit called Bilbo Baggins (of whom she had barely ever heard anything from), she didn't quite know. He got to the part in his story where dwarves had started to sing a song. It was a lovely song, she had to admit, and it had done just the right trick of lulling her to sleep.

            Frodo, feeling her small body go limp, took her to his room. He shed her of her skirt, leaving her in the same clothes as when they had met, and did the same for him. He lifted her small body, and they both sunk into his plush bed. Frodo gave a sigh of content and held her as he slowly fell asleep.

            They had a wonderful week. Everyday they awoke to the smell of breakfast cooking in the kitchen thanks to Rosie. Said female had given Mirabell a few dresses that she herself had worn as she was a young lass, and Mirabell loved her for it. She would dress and eat breakfast with Frodo, of whom she had become _very_ fond of, and then they would go off for small adventures. They went to the market, to the lake, on hikes through the forest, and, her favorite, on picnics in rather far off pastures.

            She was enjoying herself very much. Soon the end of the week had arrived, however, and she found Frodo acting very curious. That night, before she ate dinner, he kneeled before her. "Mirabell," he said, "I've grown very fond of you throughout this week. I know you're an orphan, but you don't have to be- if you catch my drift." She was intelligent child, no doubt about it, but this sentence had confused her. Did it mean that she would be able to make her parents come back from wherever they were just by wishing it?

            Seeing her look of confusion, Frodo decided to elaborate, "Well… let me put it this way. If you want, you can move into Bag End with Sam, Rosie, Elanor, and me. You can, if you want, become Mirabell Baggins and be my daughter." Her green eyes widened in shock. He wanted to adopt her? He honestly had grown to love her to the point of wanting to adopt her? Her eyes filled with large, salty tears and she embraced him around his middle.

            "Of course," he heard her high voice cry over and over as her tears of happiness soaked his stomach. He held her tightly, and they simply stood in the hallway, both overcome with bliss.

He had found it.

He had found a reason to stay.

            Had it not been for little Mirabell coming into his life, he would have been on the boat sailing to the Grey Havens right now. He would have left Sam, Pippin, and Merry behind. He would leave the Shire, leave Bag End, and leave everything he knew. But Mirabell, by some strange luck, had found him. She had found him, he had found her, and they had found each other.

            Love they held and felt for each other, for they were now father and daughter- and, my friends, their love spread to those around them. The thing left to say, as Mirabell would have said it, is that the love is to spread to you too and cause you much joy in your life.

**/story**

Sooo… what do you guys think? Well… I liked it, and I have just _one_ thing to say. HA! Exactly. "Ha". It doesn't always have to be a romantic story, ya know? ^.^ I hope you enjoyed.

loon


End file.
